


At The Water's Edge

by Johaerys



Series: This and This and This: Achilles & Patroclus [4]
Category: The Song of Achilles
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Nightmares, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johaerys/pseuds/Johaerys
Summary: During his two month long sea voyage from Phthia to Skyros, Patroclus makes an unexpected friendship.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (background), Patroclus & Original Male Character
Series: This and This and This: Achilles & Patroclus [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934749
Comments: 24
Kudos: 19





	1. Guiding Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hazilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazilla/gifts).



> I don't know about you, but I always wondered what Patroclus got up to during those two excruciatingly long months on the ship that took him to Skyros to find Achilles. So when my dear friend Hazel told me about her idea of what might have happened, I simply *had* to write it down! It is a rather quiet and introspective work which focuses on Patroclus' state of mind, being away from Achilles for so long, as well as his unexpected friendship with a sailor on the ship and how it might have affected him.
> 
> This is a companion piece to my currently running Patrochilles fic [High-Flying Birds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151149/chapters/60943276) (which follows Achilles during his time in Skyros, among other things) but since both works stay close to canon you don't need to have read it to understand what's going on. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy! <3

We don’t always choose where life takes us. Sometimes the choice is made for us. The three Fates spin their weaves, and we must go wherever they lead us. If the world is an endless ocean, we are but pieces of driftwood, mercilessly swept here and there by the shifting currents until we are spat out, discarded at the water’s edge.

Those were the thoughts that drifted through my mind as I made my way to the docks. A red and swollen sun was hanging low over the mountains to the west, and the heavy smells of fish, ship tar and stale wine reached my nostrils. The coin purse that Peleus had given me hung heavy by my belt. I drew the edge of my cloak over it to hide it from view and pressed it discreetly to my thigh to stop the gold coins from clinking as I walked straight past the clusters of dock workers and sailors that lined the stone wharf of Phthia’s docks. 

Not a few of them looked my way, stopping their games of dice, obviously impressed by the rich colour of my tunic. It was a deep and vibrant purple, the golden embroidery along its hem catching the light as I walked. It was the best I could find, one of Achilles' own. Their eyes on me, the quiet that fell around me as I walked made me uneasy. I hasten my step, eager to reach the ship that Phoenix had indicated before he saw me off. _The captain of the_ Paralos, Achilles’ old and kindly tutor had told me, _is an honest man, and does not ask many questions. He’ll see you safely, wherever you need to go._

I felt more than a little lightheaded when my sandaled feet touched the ship’s deck. The wooden floor was smoothed and sanded, well taken care of. The sailors and ship boys were hauling crates of fruit, sacks of grain, sealed amphorae filled with wine and honey. They would be trading them on the islands we would be passing on our way, receiving gold and even more goods in return. 

I eyed the vessel warily. It was large and wide, heavy, meant for slow sailing. Slow enough to keep the goods safe even when the winds were rough and the waves battered against its wooden belly. I didn’t know much about ships. I had never spent much time at the docks, preferring the quiet gardens of the palace, the olive grove beyond it or the beach nearby, or the solitary pleasure of Achilles’ company, yet even I could tell that with a ship like this it would take weeks to get to Skyros. Perhaps even months.

My heart tightened at the thought. My worry, that I had tried so hard to rein, slithered to the surface. What was Achilles doing? Was he safe? Would he still be there when I reached Skyros' shores, or would his mother have whisked him away somewhere else, somewhere further still, as soon as she caught scent of my arrival?

I shook my head lightly, letting the humid, salty breeze that combed through my hair take the thoughts away. I had a destination now, a place to go. Achilles was _somewhere_ , somewhere I could sail to, and I took heart from that knowledge. However ominous the future felt right then. 

The golden coins I had given the captain clinked softly in their pouch when the man walked behind me up the long wooden plank that connected the ship with the long board walk of the docks. He was watching me from the corner of his eye. He did not know what to make of me, I supposed; I was neither a boy nor a man, I had not given him a name that he had recognised, yet my tunic was fine and well-made, my manners as regal and commanding as I could make them, and my coin had been enough to take me to Skyros and back three times over. I needed him to believe that I was important. It was the only way I could gain passage on a ship like this, which was not meant for it. 

“We leave at dawn,” he told me flatly, coming to stand beside me as a ship’s boy brought the leather bag that carried my few belongings. I winced when he deposited it unceremoniously before my feet; my mother’s lyre was in it. 

The captain asked me if there was anything more for them to bring up, to which I shook my head. He made a non-committal grunt, then waved at a young man that was gathering a length of wet and heavy rope up the side of the ship. “Xanthos will show you to your berth,” he said, then walked away without a second glance. 

The man the captain indicated hastened to my side. He was tall and broad of shoulder, but his bare feet were light and quick when he approached me, barely making a sound. The ship was rocking gently with the waves, but he never missed a step, practiced after years of sailing, no doubt. His smile was wide and friendly, and there was a warmth to it that I had not expected to see from someone that barely knew me. 

“First time on a ship?” he asked merrily, bending to pick up my bag. I nodded reluctantly and followed in his footsteps as he led me through the twisting passages of the ship’s underbelly, careful to move around the other sailors going about their business. The whole ship was astir with activity, in a way that I had never before imagined while gazing at the ships from a distance, from the safety of the palace. 

“First time is always rough. You’ll get used to it soon enough, though.” He pushed open a door to a small and narrow room, barely wide enough for two men abreast to fit through. He almost dumped my bag at the feet of the small cot like the previous sailor had, when I stopped him, my arms raised in alarm. 

“Please, be careful with that.” I held out my hands to take the bag from him.

“Oh. Forgive me, my lord. I did not know—” He stood for a moment, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He seemed too large for the small room, out of place. Our gazes met, and at that moment I was sure that I was the one that must have looked entirely out of place to him. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. It looked like it was usually cropped short, yet now had grown longer, wisps of it falling over his sun kissed brow. Its colour was a light brown, bleached lighter still at the ends from the merciless beating of the sun. His name, Xanthos, meant blonde, aureate, with a quickness and sparkle like the light that catches on polished gold before it disappears. People often called Achilles that, but where Achilles was fair and golden, Xanthos was burnished bronze. It suited him well, I thought. I figured it was more because of the golden brown tan of his skin, of his honey brown eyes. Among the other sailors, with their dark hair and weather beaten skin, he would have looked the fairest.

He was peering at me now with those golden brown eyes of his, as if afraid to inconvenience me, and the natural, unadulterated kindness in them took me by surprise. His gaze was clear and honest; I felt like I was looking at crystal clear waters, so diaphanous that I could see right down to the sea bed. 

I had not realised I had gone quiet until Xanthos spoke again. “It must be important to you.”

I swallowed thickly, then tore my gaze from his to place my bag gently on my cot, as if it was precious glass. “Yes. It is.” My answer sounded too harsh in my ears, so I softened it by saying, “There’s a lyre in there. It used to be my mother’s. I took it with me because—”

_Because Achilles didn’t._

My throat tightened, my eyes burning with the tears I had tried to suppress since that morning, when I had woken up in an empty bed. The lyre had been at its usual place, leaning against the wall adjacent to our bed, untouched. Achilles hadn’t taken it with him this time. I believe it was this that had unsettled me the most. I knew he could not have gone willingly, not if he'd left it behind. _Now I know how to make you follow me anywhere,_ he’d told me once, years before, when he'd brought the lyre with him to Pelion. I would follow him anywhere, it seemed, with or without it. I would do anything, cross oceans and mountains and plains, just to be with him.

My worry and sadness swelled, ready to consume me. I cleared my throat, pushing it down. “I took it with me, because I need to give it to someone. Someone… important to me.”

The words seemed paltry and frail, too small to encompass the true depth of what Achilles was to me. But for now, they were enough. They had to be. Otherwise, the emptiness of his absence would swallow me whole. 

Xanthos nodded solemnly. “I understand. I do hope you get to give it to that person… whoever they are.” When I did not reply, he bowed his head and slithered past me to the door. Even though he was tall and broad, the muscles in his bare arms strong and defined, he moved quickly and agilely, not missing a step despite the smooth rocking of the ship. He stopped at the doorway and glanced at me over his shoulder. “The food is served after sunset, usually. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Most visitors don’t like spending much time with the crew. Not that we have that many visitors, but, uhm…” He seemed not used to speaking with many people other than his crew mates. He moved with much more ease and grace than he spoke, and my fine tunic and royal bearings did nothing to put him more at ease. Still, he smiled at me, quick and fleeting, before he continued, “You are more than welcome, in any case. There’s good food, and perhaps even some good company too.”

“I…” I started, then stopped. I wanted to tell him that no company would be enough to take my mind off my troubles, however pleasant. That there was nothing to soothe the ache that plagued me, to make me forget the worry that was gnawing at me from the inside. Instead, I bit the words back and inclined my head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

With another small bow, Xanthos left, closing the door softly behind him. I was left alone in my narrow cot. Suddenly, the walls seemed small and tight, closing in on me. There was no window, so I was half drowned in darkness, too. I lit the small lamp that had been left there for me before I’d arrived, and sat on the bed that would be mine for the foreseeable future. The mattress was hard like dry, packed earth, and the blanket on top of it rough and scratchy. 

I sighed. It was not going to be a pleasant voyage, or easy. Of that, I was certain. 

I was falling. A stone sinking in dark waters. 

The world around me was darkness. I could not see where I was, nor could I tell where I was going. I was looking for something, at the same time that I was running from something; what, I did not know. My mind was seized in an icy grip, and I felt cold and hollow. The weight of that emptiness crushed me. I did not know how to fill the void, yet I knew I had to find what I was looking for soon. Before my time ran out.

Footsteps echoed behind me, ringing hollowly as if I were in a deep, dark cavern. The light of a lone candle trembled in the darkness, but its light was grey and lifeless. I moved towards it, following the tremor of the shadows it cast. That was when I saw him. 

_Clysonymus._

He was standing before me, watching me solemnly with empty, transparent eyes. He was perfectly still, his countenance ashen and grey, but all I could see was him falling, tipping backwards in a moment that felt never ending. The sound that his head had made when it cracked against the stone like an egg, the brightness of his blood that had made every colour seem dull, crimson poppy petals drifting with the wind. 

He opened his mouth.

Terror gripped me, flooded me to the brim. I turned around and ran, as fast as my legs could carry me. I could not let him take me with him. I could not, not before I’d found Achilles. I knew, with a certainty that seemed to be embedded deep in my bones, that I had to be with him, no matter what. Otherwise I would be caught in this dark, desolate place of haunted and desperate souls, and everything bright and brilliant and beautiful would be taken from me forever. I would be caught, trapped; I would slip and slide and disappear in the depths of the underworld, never to be seen again.

I would never see Achilles again. Not ever.

Despair consumed me, a wave that curled over me. I called out his name, again and again, hoping he would hear me, desperately wishing he would take my hand and pull me back up to the light with him. 

_Achilles,_ I whispered, pleading. _Achilles, Achilles—_

I woke up with a start, jolting bolt upright on the bed. My breaths were coming in fits and starts, clawing at my throat. For several moments I could not tell where I was, what I was doing. I fumbled on the mattress, searching for Achilles’ hand that surely lay beside me. The safety of his presence was always enough to calm my beating heart, to ease my terror after every nightmare. I searched frantically in the dark, but my hands only found scratchy blankets, a wooden wall, the leather bag that lay beside my bed. Panting, with trembling fingers, I lit the lamp beside me, blinking as the shadows were driven away. 

The trembling flame illuminated my narrow berth. The floor beneath me bobbed gently, in time with the rocking of the waves underneath the ship. I took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall as reality slowly solidified around me. I was alone, on ship filled with strangers, that knew nothing about me and cared not for me. I was alone, without him. Without Achilles. 

The realisation bore down on me like a mountain. My throat tightened and my eyes burned as tears started streaming down my cheeks in an unbroken stream. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to muffle my sobs, hugging my knees tightly as I curled in on myself. I could feel his absence as acutely as a missing limb. It was as if part of him was still there, his presence tugging at the edges of my consciousness, but I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him, couldn’t reach him. My mind struggled to comprehend it, but nothing seemed real. It would surely drive me mad, if I let it. 

I took in a deep breath when my sobs had finally ebbed, wiping my cheeks on the fabric of my tunic. I felt weak, lightheaded. I had had nothing to eat since the day before when we had sailed away from Phthia, so tight the knot in my stomach had been. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t have been able to keep anything down, not with the way the ship rocked as it glided over the waves. Sleep had left me completely. Even if it hadn’t, I was too scared to close my eyes, in case my nightmares found me again.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the narrow bed. I hastily pulled on my cloak, eager to leave the small, suffocating cabin behind me. The ship was largely quiet when I walked out onto the deck, the sea wind and the waves that crashed against the ship’s belly the only sounds. I walked up to the railing and gripped it tightly as I stared out into the dark and frothy sea. The salt air whipped at my hair, the fabric of my cloak. It was a chilly night, but the sky was clear and bright with stars. 

I started slightly when I heard footsteps behind me, light and careful, in sync with the rhythmic whispers of the waves below. 

“Can’t sleep, I take it?” Xanthos asked, and his voice was laced with genuine concern. I had learned soon after I’d boarded ship that he often took the night’s watch. I made a weak attempt at a smile.

“The ship’s rocking is keeping me awake,” I lied. He believed me. 

“It takes a while to get used to it, but once you do, you can’t sleep without it.” He leaned against the railing, reaching for something at his belt. He offered it to me, and I gingerly plucked the wineskin from his hands. 

“It’s from Lesbos,” he said. “It’s good. Try it. Might ease the nausea a bit.” 

My first instinct was to decline, but then I thought better of it. What did I really have to lose? At the most, I might be able to sleep a little easier. I uncorked the wineskin and brought it to my mouth. The wine was strong and aromatic, already watered and spiced. It was indeed good, I realised, though I had little taste for wine. I took a sip, then another, before handing it back to him. “Where are we now?” I asked, nodding at the dark outline of the mountains in the distance. 

“North of Euboea.”

“And where are we headed next?”

He pointed to the bright constellation right above us. “See that?”

I squinted at where he indicated. The stars twinkled in the dark, one among them shining the brightest. “Polaris,” I said quietly. “The guiding star of sailors. We’re going north.”

“That’s right. We’re going to to Alonissos. The captain wishes to sell the amphorae and the fresh plums we got from Chalcis and Eretria there.” 

“I see,” I replied, though I had scarcely heard what Xanthos had said. My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I traced the constellations with my eyes. _Micri Arctos, Megali Arctos_. Orion. The Pleiades, just starting to glow in the horizon. 

So many times had Achilles and I named them together, either in the open sky or the painted ones of our cave, that it felt odd now to do it without him. Unnatural. Wrong. My sadness mingled with my anger at Thetis, for taking Achilles away from me, for trying to keep us apart— for I was sure that was the reason for her spiriting him away to Skyros. She must have known what had transpired between us the moment we stepped foot beyond Chiron’s protection. But more than that, I was angry with myself, for challenging my fate, the gods themselves. I had been drunk on love, on my own foolishness, holding him like nothing could ever come between us. At that moment, it all seemed so hopeless. My entire life felt like an uphill battle, like I’d been fighting waves large enough to engulf me, with the only moments of respite being the ones when I was with him. The time when I had felt invincible, happy beyond measure seemed distant, a dying star on a winter night. 

I hadn’t even realised that my eyes had filled and overflowed once more until the tears that had been coursing down my cheeks had soaked the top of my tunic. I heard Xanthos opening his mouth to speak, to ask if everything was alright, but I cut his sentence short. 

“Have you been travelling on this ship long?” I asked, hoping to change the subject, and that the darkness hid my puffy eyes and reddened nose, my haggard appearance. “You seem perfectly at ease here.”

He gave me an awkward smile and glanced politely away from me, yet I could still see the concern that furrowed his brow. He wasn’t particularly good at hiding his feelings. Like someone else I knew. “I’ve been with this crew for two years now,” he said softly, gazing out into the sea. “Before that, I was a ship’s boy in a trader that travelled the coast of the Peloponnese. I even went to Crete twice. This one, it only travels through the northern islands, for the most part. Modest pay, but decent work. Fewer pirates around these parts, too,” he added. “It’s good work, really.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I responded, and instantly I felt my sadness ebbing. Xanthos’ voice was gentle, almost soothing. His eyes and expression were earnest, and he was surprisingly easy to talk to. At that moment, I couldn’t have asked for a better distraction from my own thoughts. “Where are you from, Xanthos?” I asked in honest curiosity. His accent was light and sing-songy, with a strange sort of rhythm to it, and had none of the flat and clipped vowels of the Phthian dialect. It had always sounded rough to my ears, until I’d heard Achilles speak. After that, I had come to love it. “Did you grow up far from here?” 

“I’m from Naxos,” he replied. “From Apollonia.”

“You’re a long way from home, then.”

He huffed softly at that. “I suppose I am. There isn’t much there. It is beautiful but barren, and the winds are high in winter. They can tear the doors from their hinges, and blow the roofs away. My father was a fisherman. That’s all you can do there, really, if you don’t own land. That,” he tilted his head to the side, “or join a ship crew.”

“Do you... still have family there?” I asked, half-dreading the answer I would get. To my relief, Xanthos nodded.

“I do. My sister and my brother in law never moved away. My mother died many years ago, and my father is old. He can’t row the boat anymore. Aktaios, my brother in law, has taken over now. He fishes and sells what he catches to the market. It’s not much, but it’s enough for them. As for me… well. If I stayed, I would have just been an extra mouth to feed. So when I was strong enough to pick up an oar, I left.” He leaned with his elbows on the railing, letting out a soft exhale through his nose. He seemed to want to talk more, then thought better of it. We remained in companionable silence for a while. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in gentle shades of pink and violet, when he asked, “What about your family? Are they in Skyros?”

I blinked, taken aback by the question. I hadn’t realised how completely I’d been distracted from my thoughts in the handful of minutes that Xanthos and I had been talking, yet now they all came back to me. I remembered that I had no one, no family to speak of. Other than Achilles. 

I swallowed thickly. “You… could say that.” I let my words trail away, unable to say more, and looked away from him. There was no way I could explain to him in simple terms what Achilles meant to me, what I stood to lose if I never managed to reach that island. How he was an extension of myself, and more than that; how we completed each other, like two pieces of a whole. How he was the one light in my life that never went out. My guiding star.

Xanthos noticed my long pause. He shifted on his feet, shooting me an uneasy glance. “If I’ve offended you, my lord, forgive me,” he finally said when I let the silence linger between us. 

“You did not.” I smiled to brush off his concern. “This person I’m meeting in Skyros… he is very dear to me,” I said quietly, and even those words seemed small and trivial. I took a breath, then tried again. “Family, friend, companion. Everything. He is everything to me.”

He did not reply to that. He just stared out into the sea, the frothing waves that were turning from black to grey to golden pink with the sunrise. “I envy you,” he said softly, yet there was no malice in his voice. “It is a rare thing, to have someone that means so much to you.”

The signal for the change of watch sounded cleanly across the deck, startling me. Xanthos, on the other hand, seemed quite used to it. “That’s me,” he said with a sigh as he pushed himself upright. His bronzed skin was gleaming with the light from the rising sun, his eyes a deep golden brown. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You, too,” I replied, and I meant it. “Thank you for your company, Xanthos.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.” He turned around to leave when my voice stopped him short. 

“Patroclus.” He looked at me quizzically over his shoulder, and I said, “My name. It’s Patroclus. You... can call me that, if you’d like.”

He turned to face me then, his expression unusually solemn. "Patroclus," he said, and something in the way he said it, so slowly and deliberately, as if testing out the sounds, reminded me of the only other person that spoke my name thus. 

_Patroclus,_ Achilles always called me. _Pa-tro-clus._

“I’ll see you around then, Patroclus.” He smiled warmly before turning around once more. “Make sure you get some sleep.”

I listened to the muffled sound of his retreating footsteps, to the ship slowly stirring awake. I stayed by the railing, for a long while, watching as the sun rose higher, bathing the world in its amber glow. Somewhere, beyond those waves, across that great divide, my guiding star was waiting for me. 

I would not rest, until I reached him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if you've made it to the end I just want to say I'M SORRY for all the angst and feels in this chapter, but it really couldn't be helped. I just think that Patroclus would have major separation anxiety, especially this early on in his voyage. Things will get better, I promise!
> 
>  _Micri Arctos:_ Ursa Minor, _Megali Arctos:_ Ursa Major
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome and deeply appreciated. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I'm [JohaerysLavellan on Tumblr](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


	2. Dreamer

Time passed slowly, out at sea. 

The days went by, calm and uneventful. The ship glided slowly on the waves like a large, dense cloud along an untroubled sky. The winds often picked up in the evenings, making it bob and dance, but for the most part the journey was quiet. Too quiet. We stopped at various ports along the way; crates were unloaded, others were brought up. A day or two at the harbour for the captain to get the best prices he could for his wares, then we would set sail again. 

There was not much to do during those long hours on board. The endless blue that stretched all around me swiftly became monotonous, with only the occasional rock island to break up the sameness of the view. I hadn’t brought much with me to occupy myself. When I’d left Phthia behind, I had only brought the bare essentials: gold, some dried fruit and nuts in a small linen pouch, a few changes of clothes. My mother’s lyre.

I could be playing the lyre, I supposed, but my stomach would twist in knots at the mere thought of it. The lyre was Achilles’, as much as it was mine. Touching its gilded arms and running my fingers over the fine strings without him close to listen made me feel empty, and the sounds seemed dull and hollow. 

It had always looked far more natural on him, the melodies that poured forth from its strings sweet enough to rival the music of the gods themselves. It was often said that instruments hold a part of their owner’s soul; a piece of their hearts, their minds left behind in the act of playing. It could have been just a foolish fancy on my part, a childish notion, but it gave me a strange sort of comfort to think that, when Achilles had the lyre with him, a small part of me was there to accompany him. The thought of him being anywhere without it stirred a sadness in me so bottomless, I thought I would drown in it.

The nights were always worse, when darkness and quiet descended upon the world, and when my sorrow rose within me like high tide. Those moments, when the walls of my tiny cabin seemed to be closing in on me, and the air around me grew thick like water, I would leave my self-imposed confinement and go out on deck. I often sought Xanthos’ company, then. He usually took the night’s watch, and we would sit together at the ship’s prow with our legs dangling off the side, watching the stars and sipping spiced wine from his wineskin, talking about this and that until dawn found us. 

I learned a lot about him, during those slow and quiet nights. I learned that he was good with a bow and a shepherd’s sling, but that he’d never touched a spear in his life. That he had a scar on his right calf from when he had fallen off the boughs of an olive tree when he was a child, and another one on his forehead, close to his hairline, that he got on his very first voyage when he accidentally hit his head on a lowered mast. That his favourite dish was fried red mullet fish, with lemon and garlic, and that prawns made him break out in hives. 

“Quite unfortunate, to be allergic to seafood when one is a seaman,” I’d joked when he told me, and he’d laughed. 

“Life is full of clever ironies such as this, isn’t it?” His cheeks had been a touch flushed from the drink, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “It’s what makes it so interesting.”

It was that same night that I learned that he could play the flute, and always had one on him. When I’d ask him to play he had insisted that he didn’t have much talent for it, but I relished the sweet notes that drifted from it all the same. The silvery music had briefly reminded me of all those quiet afternoons I’d spent in the olive grove in Pelion, practicing the flute while Achilles lay beside me, eyes closed, his arm curled under his head. He’d looked so peaceful then, so serene, as if nothing could disturb that quiet moment, as if nothing existed in the world except us two. 

A sharp pang of bitterness had risen within me at the memories, yet it had swiftly dissolved when Xanthos had finished his tune. The brightness of his smile when I’d told him I’d enjoyed it had been enough to take my mind off my own miseries, if only for a moment. 

  
  


I had been on the ship for more than a month when we stopped at the port of Skopelos. A small island, its high verdant hills looking as if they were jutting straight out of the water. The hustle and bustle of its small port was a welcome change to the ceaseless, monotonous whispers of the waves, the sea wind and the seagull’s cries. 

Crates were loaded and unloaded, deals with the local merchants made, as usual. We were only going to stay there until dawn, the captain told everyone. A skeleton crew would remain on the ship, while the rest were free to do as they wished. When Xanthos asked me whether I wanted to go for a walk about the town, I eagerly accepted, jumping at the chance to finally set foot on solid ground again.

Truth was, I enjoyed Xanthos’ company. He was talkative but not loud, cheerful without being obnoxious; there was a lightness to the way he spoke and moved. He had a strange way of knowing when to talk and when to keep silent, and, when I retreated into the inner workings of my mind for too long, he seemed to know how to pull me up to the surface with a story or a jest. 

Now, however, as he led me through the crowded docks, his enthusiasm for being on one of his favourite islands —as he’d brightly informed me— was too large to be contained. Several eyes strayed in our direction when he stopped to loudly greet this or that person that passed us by, but he seemed not to notice. Xanthos had a commanding presence without realising it, the kind that came without effort or artifice; he stood at least a head taller than everyone around us, and his merry voice with its lilting accent rose through the din and noise of the crowd. I was surprised by how little I was bothered by the attention the two of us attracted, as we walked towards the market square.

The _agora_ , the island’s marketplace, was not large: just a handful of merchant stalls and shops beyond the docks, gathered around the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. At Xanthos’ insistence, I tried _teganitai,_ a local dessert made of fried dough, honey and spices. It was warm and fragrant when the vendor handed it to me, fresh and steaming from the flat clay pan over the brazier. It was delicious, melting on my tongue, and different from similar desserts I’d tried in Phthia and Opus, even though the ingredients were the same.

“It’s the trees,” Xanthos told me. At my curious look, he laughed. “The bees here feed on the pine and oak trees of the island. The honey is different than the one you’re used to; that’s why the _teganitai_ taste different, as well.” 

He was handsome when he laughed, I realised. I watched the sun catch in the honey gold highlights in his hair, the shadows that pooled in the contours of his tanned face, his eyes that sparkled and crinkled at the corners. I smiled, savouring the sweetness that lingered on my tongue as I followed him.

Flickering light caught my eye. I turned, curious, and followed it, and soon I found myself before a jewellery stall. It was a rather small one, with but a few pieces of jewellery on it, situated right in front of a smithy. A young woman was sitting behind it, her black hair gathered in a braid and pinned at the nape of her neck. The pins that held her dress in place at her shoulders were made of burnished silver, worked in the shape of feathers. She smiled when she saw us approaching. 

The scent of warmed up metal and wood smoke filled my nostrils, and the rhythmic blows of the hammer mingled with the noise and chatter coming from the market. The jewellery, set in neat rows upon the stall, caught the light of the afternoon sun, its golden rays reflecting on the intricately carved patterns. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, brooches, the metals twisted in shapes new and unexpected, with small colourful stones glittering amidst the folds. I heard Xanthos’ footsteps stopping beside me, his arm brushing my own as he leaned forward to examine the wares. 

“Look at this one,” he said, pointing at one of the rings. It was bronze, worked flat on top, with a delicate carving of a dove. Simple, yet well made. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Try it on.” I blinked at him, and he grinned. “Go on, just try it. It won’t bite.”

I let out a soft chuckle as I put it on my finger. It slipped easily, like it was always meant to be there. I held it close to my eyes, inspecting the carving. 

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do,” I nodded with a smile as I studied the engraving, noticing the details on the dove’s feathers, its slender neck, its eyes. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it, that so much detail can be preserved in something so small?”

Xanthos made no reply. He reached for his belt instead, pulling out his small bag of coins. My eyes widened with surprise when I saw him drawing out a couple coins to hand over to the merchant. 

“No!” I stopped him, reaching out to catch his wrist. He blinked at me, stopping short. “You— you don’t have to,” I said hastily, hoping that my cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt. “Really. I was just admiring it, that is all.”

“It suits you," Xanthos shrugged. "I think you should have it.” He didn’t try to pry his wrist out of my grip, peering straight into my eyes instead. 

“Yes, but…” My words trailed away when our gazes met. I wasn’t used to him looking at me so intently, for so long. His eyes were deep set, almond shaped, framed by dark eyelashes. They were not green and vibrant like Achilles’, but warm and honey brown like ripe, fertile earth. Still, the clarity in them was startlingly similar. I could feel his pulse right underneath my fingertips, and it was steady and sure, like the beat of the blacksmith’s hammer. I swallowed, feeling a little out of breath, and reluctantly let go of his hand. 

“You shouldn’t buy it for me,” I mumbled awkwardly. I knew that his sailor’s wages were more than modest, and the idea of him using part of them for me, especially for something as frivolous, left me feeling numb. 

As if he could read my thoughts, Xanthos gave me a small, reassuring smile. “What if I buy something for myself as well? Then we can both have something beautiful.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“I am. It’s been a while since I bought anything like this. I think the timing’s right.” He nodded at the stall, perusing the rest of the items. “Why don’t you help me pick?”

A few minutes later, a beautifully made bronze bracelet was resting around Xanthos’ wrist. Its two ends were shaped like dolphin heads, with tiny aquamarine stones for their eyes. All sailors loved dolphins; they were always a good portent, a sign that land wasn’t too far away. 

“To make sure you’re always close to a safe shore,” I told him as I watched the young woman fasten it around his wrist. Xanthos’ smile mirrored my own when we walked away from the stall. A small shiver ran through me when I felt his palm on the small of my back, gently guiding me forward.

  
  
  


“I often come here when we're on the island,” he informed me when we reached a small, secluded beach. He seemed to know his way about the place well, and I didn’t question him when he led me through the thicket of pine trees that lay beyond the town. The beach was like an upturned horseshoe, with short and stubby trees jutting out of the rock, low enough that it seemed as though their roots plunged straight into the emerald waters. The white, flat pebbles glinted like polished marble when the waves lapped over them at the water’s edge.

The autumn breeze that was blowing was chill, but I didn’t feel cold. The bright autumn sun was enough to warm me, and my tunic kept most of the chill away. I sat on a wide and flat rock and watched as the stones that Xanthos threw skimmed the glass-like surface of the sea. There was a quiet serenity to that place, as if time glided by much more slowly there than the rest of the world. Like I had suddenly found myself in a small bubble of calmness, and I could finally breathe again. I could not remember the last time I had felt this calm, almost content. I had not felt like this since... 

Since before Achilles had been taken away.

It didn’t take long for my thoughts to drift to him, as they always did. I wondered what he was doing right then, if he was thinking of me, if he missed me. I wondered if he was unhappy, as unhappy as I was without him. The thought of his bright eyes cast downward, of his gentle heart gripped by despair, was enough to make whatever calm and happiness I had felt taste sour in mouth. 

A wave of guilt washed over me, that I was there and enjoying myself while he was alone. I could take the loneliness, the pain of his absence, if barely, but Achilles… he was different. He had never known heartache in his life, and I did not wish him to. I would take all of the pain unto myself, if I could, if that meant that his brilliance never faded, that the spark in his eyes never lost its warmth. 

I had lost track of the times I had wished that I could simply transport myself to wherever he was, instead of having to wait for days, weeks, months to get to him. I would have cursed the ship and its agonisingly slow course, if I wasn’t afraid that the gods would hear me and punish me further for my insolence. 

“Do you run, Patroclus?”

Xanthos’ voice stirred me out of my grim thoughts. He had walked away from the shore and was now standing over me. The sun hung bright over his head, bathing his wavy locks in its deep golden glow, bringing out the richness of their colour. 

I nodded slowly and pushed to my feet. He laughed as he raced ahead of me, the bright sound of it carrying across the quiet beach. 

We raced where the waves broke, over and over, our feet kicking back clumps of wet sand. I had expected to lose every race, as I always did when I raced with Achilles. I lost the first time, but the second time I won, reaching the tall rocks at the far end of the beach only a breath before Xanthos did. After this, he won, then I won again. My heart pummelled my chest, my blood pumping wildly with the thrill of those small victories.

I grinned, delighted, and hopped atop one of the tall rocks when I reached them first for the third time.

“Behold the victor!” I declared, placing my fists on my hips as I looked down upon him. 

Xanthos’ cheeks were bright with a ruddy flush, his bronzed brow gleaming with sweat. “So I am,” he said, his full lips curling in a grin wide enough to match my own. I could detect no disappointment in his gaze, no anger for having lost to someone such as me. Only satisfaction for having competed at all, and an odd sort of pride. “You raced well.”

“Thank you. You did too.” He extended his hand to me to help me down, and I took it. The skin of his palm was rough with callouses from the salt and the hard work, but the skin was warm to the touch. He gave my hand a small squeeze before he let it go, and I was surprised to detect the wave of warmth that surged through me at the gentleness of his touch. We were still close, and I could smell the light musk of his skin. There was no artistry to it, only sweat and salt and earth. Simple and direct, and so very human.

A long moment passed between us when no one talked. He took a step back and threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing the damp locks away from his brow. “So uh…” he started, shifting on his feet. “Hungry?”

  
  


The goat cheese pies we’d bought from the market were still warm when we took them out of their cloth wrappings. The sun was steadily drifting towards the west, and a chill wind had risen from the North. Xanthos had gathered some dry driftwood, and I had helped him start a small fire to keep us warm. I watched him over the dancing flames now, as he pushed bite after bite of the pie into his mouth. 

“I had missed this place,” he sighed into the fast approaching dusk after he’d finished his meal, leaning back on his elbows.

“It’s beautiful here,” I agreed. “Very calm.”

“It is. It reminds me of home. There’s a small beach there, that’s just like this one. I used to go there and fish with a harpoon when I was little. I could stay there all day, until the stars shone in the sky. My sister would often come with me, even though my mother always scolded us both for staying away from the house for so long, and sent us to bed with empty bellies. Then my grandmother would sneak into our room and give us warm bread and cheese to eat.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That woman would defy the gods themselves, if it meant keeping us fed.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his fond reminiscing. It must be wonderful, I thought, for one to remember their place of birth so fondly, to have been raised with a family that loved them. Most of my memories of Opus were bitter, even the good ones tainted by my father’s quiet disapproval that always followed me like a shadow, and of the crime I had committed. That, most of all. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Apollonia?” I asked him, eager to escape my own thoughts. It was easier to do while listening to Xanthos’ smooth and rhythmic voice.

“Years.” He squinted into the horizon as he thought, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “This year, it will be five winters since I left. I’ve travelled all over the Aegean. I’ve been to Lesbos and Icaria and Samothrace. To Athens as well, once. The captain’s planning a trip to Troy soon. The spices there are the strongest and most aromatic. Cassia and coriander sell well in Greek markets.” He idly brushed the short stubble on his cheek. “He has asked me to come with.”

“You should go,” I told him gently. I could see the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of all the places he had visited, and the ones he had yet to visit. The lure of the unknown was strong in him, as it was in all sailors. “I think it would be the chance of a lifetime.”

The cool evening breeze combed through his hair, the ends of it brushing over his brow. “I think you’re right. There are places I’ve only ever heard of and never thought I would have the opportunity to see. I would like to see more of the world and its wonders.”

“That is a noble pursuit.”

“You think? There’s good money in it, too,” he grinned. “So perhaps it isn’t as noble. A rather ordinary pursuit, I would say.” He laughed softly, then let his head fall back, staring at the sky. The stars were just starting to twinkle into the coming night. “I want to travel to the ends of the world, and earn as much gold as I can. Then one day, I’d like to settle. To have a place to call my own. Start a family, perhaps. Who knows.” His gaze slid to me. “What are your dreams for the future?”

I opened my mouth, then promptly let it fall closed. It startled me, how little I had ever thought of it. It had never even crossed my mind, I realised, to plan this far ahead into the future. Ever since I’d met Achilles, ever since I had become his _therapon,_ the only thing I had wanted was to be close to him, wherever he happened to be. His destiny lay in the glory of war. His fame would eventually sprout like a sapling from the tattered and bloody ground of a battlefield. I had always known this. Our fates were intertwined, inexorably tangled; I would follow him anywhere, to the end of the world if I had to. 

But after this… after the wars and the battles, after the prophecy had been fulfilled, after he had finally become the greatest warrior this world had ever seen, what would happen to him then? Where would we find ourselves, after all was done?

I chewed slowly on the last remains of my pie, to give myself some time to think. “I… do not know,” I finally said. “I’ve never given it much thought.”

“There must be something you want. Everyone does.” Xanthos waited patiently for me to continue, the flames dancing and catching in the amber flakes amidst the brown of his eyes. 

Everyone wanted something, that was true. I knew no one that had no dreams, no hopes for the future. Part of me had always wondered if any of it was worth the trouble. While we humans made plans, the gods watched and laughed. Dreams were no more than castles in the sand, standing only for a short while before the tide washed them away. The gods were cruel, I knew, and the Fates were crueler still, waiting for the moment when our joy was ripest to snatch it away.

Yet, what were humans if not hopeful? What were they, if not dreamers?

I took a breath, deep enough to give me strength to voice what I had never dared before. “I think… I should like that, too,” I said quietly. “Same as you. A quiet place to settle, a place of my own. Up in the mountains somewhere, perhaps. Something small, with a garden out front to grow vegetables and fruits, herbs. Large windows to let in the sun and the breeze, space enough to hang my herbs to dry, a worktable to grind them into powders and pastes. A hound or two, perhaps,” I added with a smile, and Xanthos laughed gently. “I’ve always loved them.” 

Warmth swelled in me, a wave that rose to my throat, when I pictured Achilles in that small home. He would sit by the window, amidst the pots of dried rosemary and fennel, the sun glossing his aureate locks, his slender fingers plucking the strings of his lyre. My mother’s lyre. The skin on his face might show the first signs of age, some lines around his eyes or mouth perhaps, but his hair would be as lustrous and golden as it was now. He would lift his gaze to mine when I’d walk in with my basket overfull with flowers and herbs, and his lips would curl in his cat’s smile. We would cook our meals together, and go swimming in the river together, then sit in the sun to dry, our fingers intertwined. Time would pass in a slow, steady stream, and we would grow old. Together.

“Yes,” I murmured softly to myself, a fond smile tugging the corners of my lips upwards. “I should like that very much.”

Xanthos stayed silent for a long moment, the crackling of the fire and the lapping of the waves against the shore the only sounds between us. With a soft exhale, he straightened, regarding me carefully over the dancing flames. His features, when he spoke, were as serious and solemn as I had ever seen them.

“I hope,” he said, “with all my heart, that the gods grant you your wish, Patroclus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I never knew how much I needed happy, fluffy, domestic Patrochilles in my life until this moment. Thank you, Xanthos, much obliged 😂
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! The next and final chapter will be up soon :) Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3


	3. Fate

The sun had set, and the night birds were gliding into the fast-approaching dusk when we finally returned to the ship.

The rest of the sailors had already gathered for dinner, the wide galley filled with the sounds of jest and song, with the smells of the fish stew that was being prepared. I didn’t usually join the crew during their meals, preferring to take them in my room, by myself, but that evening Xanthos had insisted I stay. He was sitting next to me now, with his cheeks still flushed from our trek through the verdant hills back to the port, and the wind that had combed through his locks had given him a wild appearance. There was a gleam in his eye, that I imagined matched my own. 

The fish stew was rich and savoury, heavy with the taste of the sea and spices. Not all ships fed their crew this well, but the captain was a generous man, or so Xanthos had told me. After we had both finished our dinner, a nearby sailor treated us to some watered down wine. It was from the northern plains, near Macedonia, I was told, and quite strong, with a heavy aftertaste of berries and honeysuckle.

“Xanthos,” one of the men called. He was a tall man, strong like an bull, with his large head shaved clean. He had a bright and easy smile, which always made me somewhat uncomfortable, especially now that it was directed at both me and my companion. His gaze fell on the bracelet on Xanthos’ wrist. “What’s that you’re wearing? A little too fancy for you, isn't it?"

Xanthos smiled brightly, seemingly unaware of the laughter that broke out over the wide space. He raised his arm to show his bracelet to everyone who had lifted their heads from their drinks to look. “Do you like it, Thaddeus? I wasn’t aware it would be to your taste. I thought the only place you liked to wear jewellery was on your teeth.”

The other men laughed and jeered, banging their mugs on their tables. The jab did not seem to deter Thaddeus, who grinned even more brightly, revealing several golden teeth. “Everyone knows that, boy,” he said, laughing. “Did your friend choose it for you? You and I both know you couldn’t pick something nice if your life depended on it.”

I felt uncomfortable with everyone’s piercing stares that suddenly fell on me. Xanthos turned his body ever so slightly towards me, as if shielding me from the sailors’ crude jests. “He did,” he said, waving his mug casually. “He has a good eye. Which is more than anyone can say about you lot.”

They all laughed again, and Xanthos and Thaddeus exchanged even more jests, some of them crude, but none ill-natured. Before I knew it I was laughing with them too, and soon some of the sailors had come to sit around our table. Talk shifted away from Xanthos’ bracelet and into other matters, the ship’s journey and the highest price the captain had been able to get for some of the oils and herbs they carried, the details of the trade.

“Barley always sells cheaper here than it does in the mainland,” they would say. “Don’t know why the captain bothers with the Sporades.” Or, "Piraeus has raised the cargo tax to thirty three talents. Soon, they'll be charging an arm and a leg just to let ships into port." 

I listened to their talk, quietly sipping on my wine. Trading held little interest for me. I had never in my life had to barter, sell or buy anything, apart from the rare occasions that Achilles and I would sneak away from the palace and go to the harbour to watch the street performers and musicians that sometimes ended up on our shores. It was always fun and exciting at first, but I would soon grow weary of the chatter and noise, of the heavy and sour smells of discarded fish and sweaty human flesh, of the rattling sound of the dice games at every corner. We would quickly retreat back to the olive grove, or our small secluded beach, where Achilles could run and throw his spears undisturbed. I would sit back on the warm sand and watch him move for hours, watch as the muscles rose and fell under his skin, as shadows pooled and stretched across his features with the passage of the dying sun.

A pang of longing drove through me at the thought, before I was able to stop it. My memories of Achilles had always been gold- tinted, as if the brightness of his presence made everything it touched resplendent, just like he was. They had always been a source of comfort for me, yet now they just made me ache for him all the more.

“Do you play, lord?”

I blinked at Thaddeus, jolting out of my reminiscing. At my baffled stare, he nodded at the stretch of table between us, smiling. “Do you play?”

I followed his gaze, and there I saw them. Four dice, their pips staring up at me like eyes. They were not white and made of bone like I was used to; they were red instead, made of terracotta stone. The pips were carved on their flat and smooth surface and painted over with dark dye. The shape and colour of them mattered not, though, as I found myself staring at them for what felt like a lifetime. 

It was then that I remembered one of the reasons why I never joined the crew during their meals. Sooner or later, the tables would be cleared, and dice would be drawn out for games that lasted well into the night. 

My pulse thrummed in my temples at the images that promptly rushed through me in waves; my anger at Clysonymus, at his blatant disrespect, his mockery. His eyes that widened as he fell back, losing his balance; the crack of his head against the stone. His blood trickling slowly on the dry ground beneath him, mixing with the soil and turning it crimson. I remembered how bright it was, as if it were before me just then. My stomach turned.

“Patroclus,” I heard Xanthos say beside me, but his words reached me as if through wool. “Are you well? You are pale as a sheet.”

I think I muttered a brief apology before standing up, almost making my chair topple over in my haste, then half-running towards the deck. My heart was racing; my mind was spinning, spinning. I was shaking like a fish out of water when I finally reached the railing and clutched it with trembling hands, my breath clawing at my throat.

It wasn’t always this bad. The sight of the dice didn’t always leave me this shaken, but my nightmares, ever since I had boarded the ship, were the worst they had been in years. Almost every night I would wake up trembling and out of breath, with cold sweat running down my spine. Those memories, Clysonymus’ face, the dice that rattled incessantly in my head; all those things were part of me, embedded in my bones. Had I honestly thought that one half day of careless enjoyment would be enough to ward off those ancient terrors? 

I squeezed my eyes tightly, willing the images that seemed to be lodged there away. The night was dark upon the world now, and I felt swallowed by it, a pebble sinking to the bottom of the sea. It seemed as though if I let go of the railing for even a heartbeat, the waves would rush up and swallow me, drag me into their dark depths. 

I jolted when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Xanthos, who was watching me with evident concern.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I gripped the railing hard, taking in a deep, steadying breath. My heartbeat was gradually getting slower, and I could feel the fear that had gripped me only a moment before easing away. I stared out into the darkness, at the stars that now shone brightly above me. 

“Did, uh…” Xanthos started shyly beside me. “Did Thaddeus do something to upset you? I could talk to him if you wish. He’s a rough fellow, but he didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, of course not. He did nothing wrong. It wasn’t… it wasn’t his fault.” 

Xanthos remained silent. He didn't press me to speak further, to explain; still, I felt like I had to. 

I took another deep breath, this time to ease the words out of me. I had never spoken about my nightmares to anyone but Achilles. Without him by my side, it felt like every memory, every image from my past was a stone, slowly grinding me to meal. The last thing I wanted was to dig them up again, but the need to share the burden, if only for a moment, was what urged my tongue to weave the words.

“There was a boy, once,” I started quietly. “When I was younger. We fought over… over a pair of dice. I pushed him. He fell and broke his head.” My fingers tightened so much about the railing, that my knuckles had gone white, the wood digging into my flesh. “I killed him.”

Xanthos did not speak then, but I could sense no judgement or horror in his silence. Only patience. His very presence there gave me heart, and I continued. “I did not mean to. It was an accident. Yet every time I see dice… they just remind me of him.” I glanced up at him, fearing what I would see in his eyes, but there was only understanding. 

“How old were you?” he asked softly.

“Ten.”

He let out a slow breath. “To have seen something like this, so young…” He shook his head, and his eyes glinted oddly in the night, reflecting the light of the waxing moon above us. “I am sorry you’ve had to live with this burden all those years, Patroclus.”

The sympathy in his voice made a wave of bitterness rise within me. I swallowed thickly, but the knot in my throat remained. “At least I got to live,” I said quietly. “That boy didn’t have that chance.” 

I had never admitted those thoughts to anyone, not even to Achilles. I wished to stop my tongue from forming the words, to think of anything else, anything at all, but could not. “Sometimes,” I whispered, “I try to imagine what might have happened to that boy, had I not pushed him. How his life would have been, if I hadn’t been in it. He would have been at marrying age now. He might even have had children. He would have inherited his father’s titles, his lands… He would have been a man, in his own right. But he got to live none of that. Because… because of a pair of dice.” 

My eyes burned as I spoke. I rubbed them stubbornly, determined to not shed any tears. I did not want Xanthos to think less of me.

Xanthos kept his silence for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, mingling with the sighing of the crisp sea breeze. “The night before I boarded my first ship,” he said, “I was terrified. The priests of Apollo had spoken of a terrible storm that was to come, the worst we had seen in ages. They’d seen it in the blood of a lamb they’d sacrificed, on Apollo’s holy day. I did not want to go. I sat on my bed while the wind blew outside and shook with fear. My father came in and saw me. He told me something then. It stuck with me.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“He said… 'A man whose fate it is to die in a fire, will never die in a storm'.” At my confused glance, he laughed softly. “What my father meant was, every one of us has a path in life. The moment we come into this world, the three Fates spin their threads and decide what is to come. If my destiny was to die in a sea storm, even if I stayed on land and herded sheep all my life, the storm would eventually find me. ‘Meet your fate proudly, boy,’ my father told me that night, ‘because you cannot escape it.’ ” He turned to look at me, his dark, almond shaped eyes meeting mine squarely. “You have your path. So did this boy.”

“But…” My old pains and fears rose to the surface, the dreams that had haunted me for most of my life. I struggled to find a justification for it, for what had happened to me, for what I’d done, something that would make it all make sense. I could not. 

“It is cruel,” I whispered. “Is it not?”

“It is life, Patroclus.” 

His hand on the railing was so close to mine, I could almost feel the heat emanating from his skin. I thought of his words, turned them this way and that in my mind. I had my path. So did Clysonymus. It did not change what I had done, his life had still ended too soon. His death was still my fault. Yet if I had not pushed him…

I would never have left Opus. I would not have gone to Phthia. I might never have met Achilles. I would never have known him, followed him, loved him. My life, as I knew it, would only be a shadow of what it was, what it could have been. It was still cruel, but it was my life. My path, the one the Fates had carved for me. 

The Fates had never been kind, nor fair. But they were absolute. Inexorable. 

My hand crossed the distance between us to land gently beside Xanthos’. The waves splashed against the ship’s belly, and the night owls at the shore cooed. We stayed silent, side by side, watching the night stretch endlessly before us.

The following evening, when I went to the ship’s galley for my dinner, none of the sailors were playing dice. It didn’t take long for me to notice that it was Thaddeus’ wrist that Xanthos’ bracelet was gracing now. When I glanced at him, the unspoken question lingering in my gaze, he only smiled and winked. 

“Fate,” he jested cryptically, and took a large sip of his wine. 

I didn’t see another die being thrown for the remainder of the days I stayed on the ship. 

The day that the rolling hills of Skyros came into view arrived much slower, and much faster than I’d expected. The bay that we pulled up on shimmered golden in the early morning light. I could just make out the last of the Pleiades disappearing into the rosy fire of dawn when the ship was pulled to harbour. I leaned against the railing, my bag with my handful of belongings hanging by my shoulder, my heart beating in my throat. Somewhere on that island, perhaps in that palace atop the hill, Achilles was waiting for me. 

Xanthos was by my side when the ship’s ropes were tied to the old and worn out palisades of the long and narrow wharf. I had thought he would go straight to his bed after his shift had ended, to get what little sleep he could before they would be setting off again, but he walked down with me, then followed me to the beach, where the wharf ended. 

We gazed at each other for a long moment, standing ankle deep in crystal clear water. I found myself tracing the lines of his features, the slope of his nose, his strong eyebrows, his heart-shaped mouth. His eyes were kind and warm as ever, but there was something else hiding in their depths. During those heartbeats that we looked at each other I noticed everything, even things I had never paid much attention to before, as if I was trying to commit his features to memory, keep them safe with me. 

“So,” he said softly, “it is time.”

I nodded. “It is.”

I expected him to leave then, to climb back up to the ship and sail to his own destiny. But he stayed there, gazing at me. 

“We’ll be going back to Euboea now. To Kymi.”

“I know. The captain told me.” I smiled when I said, “And then you’ll be setting off for the Eastern ports, right?”

His lips widened in a smile that mirrored my own, but it was not quite as bright and effortless as I was used to. It was almost timid. He shifted on his feet, cleared his throat. “It won’t be for very long. Three, perhaps four months. And then we’ll be back.” A light, barely perceptible flush crept up his cheeks as he said, “I was hoping perhaps… I could see you. When I come back.”

I blinked, taken aback. I wasn’t rightly sure how long I’d be staying in Skyros, whether I would be going back to Phthia next. In my heart of hearts, I wished to find Achilles and leave with him straight away, return to Pelion, where Chiron was waiting for us. Yet all of my hopes seemed uncertain and hazy, like trying to grasp at shifting sand. Three, four months… I did not know if there was any way for me to plan that far ahead. Gods, I didn’t even know if Achilles was still where I’d been told he would be. 

My stomach tightened as I told him earnestly, “I… I’m not sure where I’ll be in four months, Xanthos.”

“I know,” he said hastily. “I know that it’s all uncertain now. But… You could wait for me here. I could come back for you. And then we could leave together.”

"Leave?" I frowned a little as he spoke, my confusion increasing by the second. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all. We could return to Phthia together, or… or anywhere else you like. Go to the mountains, perhaps. You like the mountains. Right?” His flush brightened, and his eyes flashed with something that I couldn’t quite decipher. Something akin to hope. “After my trip to the East, I think I’ll have enough gold to build a home. A small one. Like... like the one you told me about. With a garden out front…” He let his words trail away, searching my face. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “We… could stay there. You and I.”

I froze when I finally caught on his meaning. He wanted me to… to go with him. To build a life with him. To be with him. To… love him.

I took a breath, preparing myself for the blow I was about to deliver. “I’m sorry, Xanthos. I… could not.”

I saw the joy and hope that had been there a moment before drain from his features. I saw his smile quiver, and his shoulders slouch. “Oh.”

“It’s not—” I started, then stopped myself. My fists opened and closed by my side, helpless. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said quietly. “This person I’ve come here to find… He’s everything to me. He’s…” I paused, looking about me. My mind worked furiously as I searched for words that wouldn’t hurt him anymore than they had to. 

Xanthos spoke the words for me.

“Your fated one,” he said softly. He gave me a wan smile, his eyes kind and earnest as they met mine, but I could still see the hurt I’d wrought there. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” The sun was rising slowly over the mountains in the East, painting his sun-bronzed features golden and bright.

 _“Pepromenon fyghein adynaton,”_ he said. Fate is inescapable.

I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. He reached out and tentatively placed his hand on my shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Patroclus.”

“So do I.” I met his gaze, looking deep into his warm, honey brown eyes. “Thank you, Xanthos. For everything.”

His fingers squeezed my shoulder gently, feather-light, before he turned to leave.

I stayed there for a long while, at the water's edge, watching as the ship slowly rowed away. When its sails were nothing but a white speck on the golden horizon, I turned around. 

Somewhere on that island, in the palace atop that hill, my fate was waiting for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaan thus concludes this tiny story :) Thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> I'm [JohaerysLavellan on Tumblr](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/). Come say hi if you fancy!


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